


Holmes' Weaponry Co.

by KitanaRiddle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Sex, M/M, Not a Threesome Fic, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spanking, slight breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitanaRiddle/pseuds/KitanaRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John applies for a job working under Mycroft, however the other man is more interested in dating John than employing him. They compromise and John works for Sherlock while dating Mycroft. What happens when Sherlock wants John as well?</p><p>
  <i>“I know you’ve desired Sherlock since you first met him.  He wants your body John, something I have had and am willing to share this once,” Mycroft soothed him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“How can you be okay with sharing me, even if it’s only once?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Mycroft pressed another short kiss to John’s mouth, “Because I know that your heart belongs to me.  There is nothing wrong with craving the forbidden fruit, but I am a generous lover. I’ll let you taste it.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes' Weaponry Co.

“You’re credentials are impressive Mr. Watson, unfortunately I cannot offer you a job here,” the man sitting in front of John had a slight frown as he stared at the paper in front of him.  Part of John was relieved, he couldn’t imagine working for such a _proper_ looking gentleman every day and not succumbing to lustful thoughts. It took a rare type of man to bring out John’s latent homosexual side and this man fit that type perfectly. He radiated competency and the grey of his three piece suit accented by the dark maroon of his tie and handkerchief made the man look delicious. Another part of John was worried as he needed this job and this was the only company that was looking for a market analyst in the last month.

“Of course sir, thank you for the opportunity,” John tried to keep the disappointment from him voice.

The man glanced up from the paper, _John’s resume,_ and his eyes seemed to be assessing him in a far more intimate way than most looks were able to, “The reason I cannot offer you a job is that I’d very much like to take you to dinner, if you are amenable, and it would hardly be appropriate for you to be my employee. However, there is an administrative position available at our Baker Street branch; you wouldn’t be using as much of your education but the pay would be the same.  Anthea at the front desk can give you the paper work to fill out if you accept.”

John must’ve resembled a cartoon character with the way his jaw dropped to the floor, “Yes, good! I’d like that very much, dinner sounds great.”

“And the job Mr. Watson?”

“Oh, yes brilliant, the job sounds brilliant,” John felt blood rush to his cheeks, “so you’ll call me?”

The man in front of him leaned forward and leered, “You can count on it Mr. Watson.”

As he stood to leave the interview room John turned to the man sitting at the end of the table, “Please call me John, I mean we are going on a date and all.”

“Of course John, as long as you call me Mycroft.”

With a final smile over his shoulder, John made his way to the front desk. The woman who sat there never took her eyes off the screen and continued to type impossibly quick with only her left hand as she passed John a crisp blue folder. While he sat in one of the huge, white, leather chairs in the waiting area writing his information down, he noticed someone sit across from him.

“John, John Watson?” the chubby man broke the silence, “It’s Stamford, Mike Stamford.”

Looking up suddenly from the folder John recognized the man from his university days, “Oh right. Yes. How are you?”

The man beamed, “I’m well, a little fatter as you can see. I take it you applied for the analyst job and got it! That’s great.”

“No actually I’m filling out for an administrative job at the Baker Street building.”

Mike’s face dropped suddenly and the man moved close enough to John that he could smell the coffee on his breath, “Not for Sherlock I hope. My pal Molly was his administrative assistant for two years before one day she left the office in tears. She only put up with him that long cause she fancied herself in love. Mycroft had to hire her at this office to stop a lawsuit is what I heard.”

John recoiled at the new information, “I don’t know who it’s for Mike but I’m hoping a job in my field will open eventually and I can transfer. No man can be that bad.”

Neither John nor Mike noticed the small smirk on Anthea’s face as she typed an email to her boss.

* * *

The next morning the weather was dreary. Thick grey clouds hung in the sky and a slight wind blew through the streets, just cold enough to bring on shivers.  While everyone passing him grumbled under their breaths about the weather, John marched on with a small smile on his lips. He had given Mycroft’s assistant his paperwork and received an email later that evening informing him that he could start the next day if that worked for him. Luck was finally on his side, considering the last four years; he had a respectable job and a date with an interesting man. Before he knew it, John found himself staring up at the huge skyscraper that was the _Holmes’ Weaponry_ Baker Street Branch. He made his way to the 22 nd floor as per the instructions in the email and was greeted by a man, less than ten years his senior he guessed.  The man, who was sipping at a coffee and holding the last bits of a doughnut, gave John a quick glance over.

“You John Watson?” his voice was gruff with a soft authority.

“Yes sir.”

The man gave a quick laugh, “Call me Greg. I’m going to give you a rundown of your duties this morning since Sherlock couldn’t be arsed to be on time.”

A petite woman with tight black curls appeared at Greg’s side, “Oh lord this one’s got a suit. You know the Freak will have you running around this entire town?”

“Oh come off it Sally, give John time to settle before feeding him horror stories,” Greg chided as he led John away from the woman, “Don’t mind her John. Sherlock ain’t that bad, just a bit… eccentric is all.  But she is right; this building is far more casual than the Diogenes building, so a nice pair of jeans and anything but a t-shirt is acceptable. Here we are your office.”

Greg opened the frosted glass door to reveal a large white desk sitting empty as well as two leather chairs across from a fireplace.  Beside the desk was a wooden door, twice the size it could possibly need to be, which John assumed was the infamous _Sherlock’s_ office.  He listened carefully as Greg informed him of some of the jobs he’d be expected to perform daily such as sorting the mail, reviewing the daily schedule and checking messages; some of jobs he’d be expected to perform occasionally such as attending galas and conferences, running errands for his boss and organizing for meetings hosted in this building; and then he was told the jobs he’d be expected to do that weren’t quite in his job description.

“Sherlock’s a bit of a maniac, I will give Sally that, but he’s absolutely great at what he does. He’s going to ask you to do crazy jobs, like go to St Bart’s and pick up a hand or a foot or something. You don’t necessarily have to do those jobs, but Anderson his last assistant refused and he got transferred right away,” Greg warned.

John looked at the other man, “Why do they all get transferred and not sacked?”

Greg let out a bark of laughter, “I don’t think even Mycroft Holmes expects people to put up with Sherlock when he can barely do it most days.”

The glass door behind them burst open and a tall man with dark curls and high cheek bones rushed in.  The man’s dark purple shirt was pulled taut against his chest and John felt the same spark of arousal that Mycroft triggered in him. This man looked like a disaster waiting to happen and the sheer drama that accompanied each movement he made had John wondering what a hurricane he would be in bed.

“Lestrade can I borrow your phone? I think I left mine with my riding crop at Bart’s mortuary.”

Greg patted his pants, “Sorry Sherlock, it’s at my desk.”

Before he could process that this man was his _boss_ , John was holding out his own phone, “Here, use mine sir.”

The tall man turned to John as if he only just realized there was a third person in the room, “Oh thank you… So, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John shuffled his weight to one foot and watched Greg leave, “Sorry?”

“Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan, I’m sorry how did you-?”

Sherlock ignored his question and sprawled himself on one of the chairs, “Mycroft sends me a military man, hoping you’ve seen enough that my hobbies won’t faze you. Clever of him.”

Finally regaining his words John answers, “My military service wasn’t in my resume. Mycroft couldn’t have known and for that matter neither should you.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that. Did Mycroft see your phone? If he did, he’d be more than able to tell you’re back from military service in Afghanistan, hence the four year gap in your resume, and that you’ve decided to use your university education instead of a second service because you need to stay home and keep an eye on your alcoholic brother who’s just left his wife.”

“How could you possibly know all that?”

Sherlock sat up slightly and explained the tan line, the use of the word sir so easily, the phone scuffs and the engravings, to a captivated John; the latter then replied with wide eyes, “That was amazing. Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary.”

His boss was standing at this point, “That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

John couldn’t help but snicker at his boss’ answer and soon the two of them are sharing quiet smiles, “So sir, Greg informed me briefly of my jobs but maybe you could give me a more thorough explanation?”

“It’s Sherlock, and we can’t do that now. We’ve got to go down to the labs and see how Dr. Stapleton and Professor Moriarty are doing with the revitalization of Project H.O.U.N.D,” his boss held open the door and gestured for John to go towards the elevator, “Did I get anything wrong, about you?”

“I was in the military for four years, Harry is a drinker, Harry and Clara are getting a divorce and Harry’s kipping at mine.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be all right.”

As the elevator doors opened to let them on John added, “And Harry is short for Harriot.”

The other man hissed to himself, “Sister, she’s your sister. There’s always something.”

Sherlock scanned a card he pulled from his pocket and hit the elevator numbers, seemingly randomly to John, before the compartment lurched and started heading down, “It’s a sequence of binary coding activated by my card and it allows access to the basement levels. Very few people even know we have basements levels. I came up with this system to keep competitors off our tracks.”

“Amazing!” John muttered.

“You do realize you do that aloud?” his boss looks down at him with a curious expression.

“Oh sorry, I’ll keep it to myself.”

Sherlock shakes his head slightly, “No, it’s fine.”

The elevator slowed to a stop and Sherlock scanned his card once more before the doors opened to a white laboratory filled with the latest in testing equipment.

“ _Sherly!_ ” a voice sings out and John turns to see a short Irish man adorned in a lab coat pulling off blood soaked gloves making his way towards them, “You’ve come to visit Daddy and you even brought a present.”

Sherlock took a half step in front of John, “He’s my new assistant, not for you Jim.”

The other man pouted and bypassed Sherlock until John could see each pointed tooth of his terrifying smile, “Never seen you get so sentimental about a pet.”

John felt a shudder run up his spine and he subconsciously stepped closer to Sherlock. Too distracted by his discomfort, he didn’t notice the wicked smiles that Jim and his boss exchanged.

* * *

Having spent most of the morning in the labs, half astonished and half terrified of the weapons being made, John was glad to be in the lunch room and eating his sandwich and soup.

“So, how was the morning?” Greg asked as he, Sally and two men John hadn’t met sat at the table.

John swallowed his mouthful, “It was interesting, Sherlock left suddenly and didn’t leave note of when he’d get back so it leaves me time to settle my desk this afternoon. Sorry, I haven’t gotten your names yet? I’m John.”

“Henry Dimmock and Henry Anderson,” Greg points to the two men, “Go by their last names to save us all confusion.”

The conversation turned to the weekend and John found himself agreeing to go to the pub with them. Before he knew it the clock had inched closer to one, and John found himself back in his office.  He was setting up his calendar to sync with Sherlock’s as well as Anthea’s, who had told him she keeps track of what meetings Sherlock can’t skip out on. By the end of the day his desk had a picture of him and Harry on it, a small bonsai tree and the office supplies he’d guessed he’d need. It was almost time to leave and Sherlock still hadn’t returned when John’s phone beeped in his pocket.

**There’s a microwave in my office, I need you to let it run for 3 seconds at exactly 5pm. Then you can leave – SH**

John opened the enormous wooden door and looked at Sherlock’s office for the first time.  The room was larger than John could have imagined and there were stacks of books and papers on every available surface. A large table lined one wall, with a microwave on one end and beakers, tubes and microscopes all across the rest of it. Sherlock’s desk, however, was mainly empty except a single fountain pen, a notepad, a laptop and a skull. John’s curiosity got the best of him and he opened the microwave to see what he was about to zap. Sitting in a glass jar, sealed tightly with a lid, were pair of eyeballs.  Obviously _this_ is what Greg meant when he said tasks not in the job description. With a sigh, John set the timer and waited until his watch read 5. He pressed the button, ignored the sizzling and popping noises he heard, and left the office.

Sally was holding open the elevator door for him and the two of them exchanged small talk on the ride down. When he reached the main floor she spoke before riding to the parking garage, “You know sometimes Sherlock makes you feel like he’s a decent guy, but then he turns around and says something that makes you see how heartless he is. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he’s your friend John.”

The doors slid shut before he could answer.  With a shrug John turned to see that the grey clouds from the morning had parted and were now letting out a heavy downpour of rain. He glanced enviously at the man standing just outside the entrance before realizing that man was Mycroft.

“Mycroft!” John smiled as the man moved to shelter them both under his umbrella, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

The older man pressed his warm hand to John’s shoulder, “I found myself free this evening and was hoping you’d tell me all about your first day over dinner.”

* * *

The two men had started a routine; either Anthea or Mycroft himself would be waiting for John after work and then John would find himself enjoying dinner in Mycroft’s flat. Tonight warm plates of steak, beans and scalloped potatoes were waited for him when he arrived. Mycroft entered moments after and poured each of them a large glass of wine before they dove into their food, as well as into conversation.

“How was your first month working with Sherlock? Hellish I imagine.”

John laughed, “I wasn’t bored that’s for sure. He’s not a bad guy I can tell; could use some social skills but he’s brilliant.”

His dinner partner suddenly gave him a pleased grin, “Yes, my brother despite his uniqueness has never meant to be a _bad_ guy as you put it.”

“He's your brother... that makes a world of sense now” John reflected on his conversation that first day with Sherlock, “Does that mean you can do that little trick he does, where he knows your life story?”

Mycroft gave a deep chuckle at that, “I do possess the same observation skills as Sherlock but I find I’d rather put my mind to more pleasurable tasks.”

The lust in Mycroft’s stare was impossible to miss and John found himself wiggling in his chair through the rest of dinner. They had been dancing around each other for the last month and John had begun kissing Mycroft goodbye each time he left.  The kiss last night had been particularly heated and after five minutes of grinding Mycroft into his door, John waddled home with an erection aching against his jeans. He was grateful when the last of their dinner was gone and his host stood to clear the plates.  John was well into his second cup of wine when he got up to wash the dishes. Mycroft dried them and put them away.

When the last cup was placed in its rightful place, Mycroft stood behind John at the sink and started mouthing at his neck. If the stimulation from the other man’s mouth wasn’t enough to bring John completely erect, the press of Mycroft’s own hardness to his backside did the trick. John, having already lost his jumper and shirt, gasped as Mycroft trailed down his back with kisses and bites. He hardly noticed his jeans and pants being pulled down as he was lost in the thought of wearing Mycroft’s love bites. The press of a tongue to his entrance, however, brought his mind reeling back to reality. Mycroft spread his cheeks and alternated between long, thick licks over his opening and short, penetrating thrusts into it.  John was pushing his hips back, sobbing into the counter, and begging to be fucked.

“Mycroft, please, oh, oh, please!”

The older man removed himself from John’s backside and pulled him into a deep kiss while leading him to the bedroom. A trail of precome was visible on Mycroft’s waistcoat and John suddenly started ripping the clothes off the other man, determined to leave his mess on the man’s skin instead.

“John,” Mycroft panted against his ear once they were both nude and horizontal on the bed, “I’ve wanted to spread you open for my cock the moment you walked into that interview room. It took all my self-control not to bend you over that table and take you.”

“Yes, take me. Bugger me nice and hard,” John squirmed under the attention of Mycroft’s tongue on his nipples.

Soon four slick fingers were pushing into John’s opening and the man was mindless with pleasure. He’d stop forming sentences at three fingers and was chanting _now, now, now_ while riding Mycroft’s hand.

“Soon John,” the man smoothed his free hand down his partner’s sweaty face, “you have work tomorrow and we wouldn’t wish for you to be sore.”

John continued to beg until Mycroft felt he was loose enough. He applied more lubricant to his hand and gave himself a few, hard strokes while staring at the man lying under him. John’s lips were swollen red from kissing and biting, the blue of his eyes barely visible and his chest heaved as he gasped for air. Mycroft thought there was no sight more sinfully delectable than that.  He pushed into John with a slow, firm stroke and once he was fully sheathed, he waited for the other man’s eyes to open once more. With a nod from John, he began to pump his hips at a steady, ruthless pace. Mycroft made sure to change the angle enough that he was only hitting John’s prostate on every third stroke, the man beneath him begging for release.

“If I hit your prostate,” Mycroft emphasized with a hard thrust against it, “will you promise to come from my cock alone?”

John was too frantic to form words but he nodded and let the taller man pin his hands above his head. Mycroft began to pound into John, hitting the nub of nerves each time, and changed his grip to hold John’s wrists with one hand and placing the other hand on John’s throat.  He didn’t apply pressure, merely rested it there until he felt the man arching into it, trying to feel the grip. That action tore a growl from Mycroft and he tightened his hand and took more rough plunges into the man. John’s hips rose and met him thrust for thrust, all the while curling his back to press his throat firmly into the other man’s hold. Mycroft felt John’s insides flutter and clench around him and the smaller man let out a breathless scream and came over his stomach and chest.  The sensation triggered Mycroft’s own release and he removed his hand from John’s neck as he pulled out and came onto the same spots John had.

“That was amazing,” John’s voice was rough, “Worth the wait. Definitely worth the wait.”

Mycroft smiled and wiped them down before curling around John and letting the exhaustion of their activities over some them.

* * *

John woke up the next morning on his stomach with Mycroft half draped over his side. The warmth of the other man and the dull thrum of arousal made him want to stay there indefinitely. Unfortunately a glance at the clock on the bedside table forced him to be aware that he started work in two hours. He wiggled out from under his bed partner and went to the bathroom. His body ached with the reminder of a good shag and he stretched his arms up, cracking his bones.  He couldn’t stifle the way his arousal flared as he looked at his reflection in the mirror and at his chest, back and arse littered with bite marks and his throat with five finger shaped bruises.  His cock grew full and he groaned as he got into the shower. John ignored his erection and soaped up his body and hair while humming to himself in contentment. He didn’t hear Mycroft enter the bathroom but he felt the strong arms wrap around his waist.

“You should call in sick,” the taller man whispered while turning John to kiss him.

“Mycroft I can’t call in sick, lord knows what trouble Sherlock and Jim will get up to!” he tried to sound scandalized as he swapped kisses.

Mycroft pushed John against the back of the shower wall and wrapped his long fingers around both of their hard cocks. He swiped his thumb over their heads with each upstroke and tightened his fingers as he reached the base until John was shuddering through his climax, followed shortly by Mycroft.

“At least wear a turtleneck to work,” Mycroft grinned once they’d caught their breath, “We wouldn’t want Sherlock getting jealous.”

“As if,” John laughed and started soaping up Mycroft’s chest, enjoying the way his chest hair felt soft on his palms.

The other man hummed, “Wouldn’t be the first time Sherlock’s taken my things.”

“I’m yours, am I?” John felt happiness bubble in his stomach unexpectedly and he bit into Mycroft’s clavicle to hide it.

“Most certainly,” Mycroft said as he rinsed the soap off his body and stepped out of the shower.

“I’m not sure I own a turtleneck,” John told him after the other man had towelled him dry and placed a thick night robe onto his shoulders.

“I had Anthea swing by your place and grab clothes for today. She found you one; blue I requested.”

John shoved lightly at the man grumbling how he wasn’t allowed to break into his flat when he pleased, but the post coital bliss he felt made his words lack venom.  They ate breakfast together and John found himself wearing clothes he certainly would never buy, the brand name and price ensuring that. Mycroft drug him to a mirror before they left and ran his fingers along John’s sides, muttering how perfect he looked in his new jeans and sweater.  Two cars were waiting when they reached the ground level and John found himself reluctantly pulling away from the passionate snogging session they were having. He waved to Mycroft with a promise of seeing him that night, before getting into one of the cars and allowing himself to be driven to work.

His good mood followed him through the first few hours of work, despite Sherlock confining himself to his office without even glancing at his assistant, and the half hour conversation John had with Jim, trying to convince the man that he didn’t know Sebastian Moran just because they both served in the war.  He was humming to himself still and pouring a cup of tea when Anderson stumbled into the lunch room looking exhausted.

“Mind pouring me a cuppa John? I’ll grab the milk,” he asked.

John reached for a second cup, “Rough night?”

“You’ve no idea, my wife was- OH FOR FUCK SAKES,” Anderson yelled, “There’s a bloody head in here.”

Sally and Dimmock rushed in as John glanced around Anderson’s shoulder to see a head sitting in a jar of formaldehyde John wagered.

They all turned to John and Sally finally told him, “You have to say something to him John. You _are_ his assistant.”

John’s blissful morning ended as he stomped into Sherlock’s office to see the man staring out the window and playing his violin, “Sherlock just because you’re the boss doesn’t mean you can leave body parts in the communal fridge. I can arrange for a fridge to be brought into your office but for god sakes… are you even listening?”

Sherlock had put down his instrument and was glaring at John through narrow slits, “you’re wearing a turtleneck; you never wear anything besides jumpers. It’s a designer turtleneck and in the perfect shade to bring out the color of your eyes, which means it was bought for you by a lover. But if it was a lover they’d know you like the practical nature of jumpers because you can take them off if it gets too hot. So the turtleneck was bought for a different practical reason, to hide your neck.”

His boss prowled forward and pulled the neck down to expose the hand shaped bruise on John’s neck. He placed his own, surprisingly warm hand, over it and snarled, “ _Mycroft._ You enjoyed him doing this to you.”

John’s eyes were wide with shock as Sherlock pulled the sweater over his head and flung it onto the floor.  His boss’ fingers traced over every bite mark and pressed into every bruise until John found himself growing hard. Sherlock went to reach for his belt when John stepped away, bent down to retrieve his shirt and put it back on.

“Why John?” Sherlock’s voice was barely heard.

“I’ve been dating Mycroft since before I met you Sherlock,” was John’s answer.

“But you’re attracted to me.”

John laughed, “That doesn’t mean I’ll cheat on your brother with you.”

Sherlock nodded tightly, closed his eyes for a moment and then spoke, “Is everything ready for the proposal for testing grounds?”

“Greg is just finishing up the final draft and it will be ready by this afternoon.”

His boss nodded once more and motioned for John to leave. As John’s hand curled around the doorknob Sherlock made a request, “Do contact Mrs. Hudson and see if she is still selling that extra fridge. Apparently I’m not allowed to keep body parts in the work one.”

John smiled at Sherlock and forgot their awkward encounter only moments before.

* * *

Letting himself into Mycroft’s flat, John was surprised to see the man already home and sitting across from his brother. They seemed to be in a silent battle as neither spoke nor moved. John placed a kiss on Mycroft’s temple and went to have a shower. When he got out, both Mycroft and Sherlock were sitting on the bed staring at the bathroom door.

“Problem?” John asked, rubbing the towel over his hair.

Mycroft spoke first, “John, Sherlock would like to have sex with you.”

Déjà vu hit John as his jaw dropped to the floor, comically, like a cartoon character, “What, no! Mycroft I’m with you.”

“And I would enjoy it if you continued to be with me. Sherlock is insisting and I think it’d be best for all of us if he could get it out of his system so thing may return to normal.”

John glanced between the two brothers for any trace of the joke that it had to be.  His eyes never left Sherlock’s as Mycroft stood up and made his way over to kiss him. When Mycroft pulled away he stroked his fingers down John’s cheeks and followed that path with light kisses.

“I know you’ve desired Sherlock since you first met him.  He wants your body John, something I have had and am willing to share this once,” Mycroft soothed him.

“How can you be okay with sharing me, even if it’s only once?”

Mycroft pressed another short kiss to John’s mouth, “Because I know that your heart belongs to me.  There is nothing wrong with craving the forbidden fruit, but I am a generous lover. I’ll let you taste it.”

John’s knees went weak as Mycroft pulled him in for one last demanding kiss before leaving with a promise to return in an hour.

Sherlock’s fingers moved slowly up to his buttons as he continued to stare at John. The latter felt his mouth go dry as more of Sherlock’s creamy white skin was revealed. Finally his boss shrugged out of his shirt and beckoned John with his hand.  John crawled onto the bed between Sherlock’s legs and let the man pull his shirt over his head, mirroring the actions in his office earlier. Once more Sherlock’s fingers pressed into every mark and bruise before he wrapped his fingers around the hand print on John’s neck and pushed the man onto his back. Sherlock kissed like he lived, dramatic and out of control. John writhed under the onslaught of teeth and tongue; he felt like he was drowning in the feeling of Sherlock’s mouth.  John pushed Sherlock’s trousers and pants down until he could wrap his hands around the throbbing flesh he found.

“I want you to fuck me,” John groaned as Sherlock assaulted his neck, “Since we only get this once, _god,_ I want you inside me.”

With a groan, Sherlock seized John’s pants and threw them onto the floor before attaching his mouth to a bruise on John’s hip. He slicked up a finger and shoved it inside John, almost too hard but not hard enough John thought, before mouthing at John’s erection. He ran his tongue over the vein on the underside and wiggled his tongue under the foreskin to lap at his slit. He added another finger and scissored them, spurred on my John’s moans and gasps. Sherlock swallowed John down completely and sucked hard before making his way back to the head and repeating the action. By the time he added a third finger he could feel John’s testicles drawing up tight and he clamped his fingers tight against the base of John’s cock, cutting off the orgasm, and began to mouth at his balls.

“Sherlock get your,” moan, “prick inside,” gasp, “Oh fuck, inside me.”

His boss rolled onto his back and slid a condom on his aching member before drawing John onto his lap, “Ride me John.”

John reached back and rubbed the head of Sherlock’s cock against his hole before sinking down. Sherlock guided him by placing his hands on John’s hips and soon they were rocking hard and fast against each other. Suddenly Sherlock moved one of his hands and gave John’s arse a firm _smack_.  The noise John let out was a mixture between a moan and a gargle as he started lifting his hips even quicker and fiercer. Sherlock continued to lay smacks on John’s arse and thighs until he felt his brain go empty while he poured his seed into the condom. Suddenly Sherlock’s mind started up again and his thoughts were racing around him, full of new ideas for weapons.

“Sherlock bloody Holmes,” John growled, “If you don’t finger me to an orgasm I will quit.”

The taller man stopped his thoughts and focused on the debauched looking man on the bed. He rammed his fingers roughly into John’s wet hole and sucked down the man’s hardness. Within moments John was gripping his hair and fucking into his throat before coming with a shout. Sherlock had no choice but to swallow as John’s cock was pressed against the back of his throat.  Both men lay on the bed, struggling to breathe, for a long while.

The sound of Mycroft returning home woke Sherlock from his mind palace. He grabbed his brother’s dressing gown on his way to the loo and emerged wearing it. Before he left he pressed a quick kiss to John’s cheek.

“Surely you’re not leaving in only my nightgown. What will the neighbors think?” Mycroft mused as he passed his brother in the hallway.

“I’ve got to see Jim. There’s so many ideas I have for weapons right now, there’s no time for clothes,” the excitement was evident in Sherlock’s voice, “thank-you Mycroft.”

Mycroft waved his hand as his brother left and made his way to the bedroom to find John, still sprawled on the bed.  John looked completely out of his senses and Mycroft took pity, helping to guide the man to the bathtub.  His partner’s mental capacity started to return once he was submerged in the water and John pulled Mycroft for a chaste kiss.

“So?” the older man asked.

John yawned as he twinned their fingers together, “Who knew the forbidden fruit didn’t taste nearly as satisfying as the one you already have.”

Mycroft kissed John’s nose, “I told you John Watson, your heart belongs to me.”


End file.
